


Breakfast Table

by Ad_lucem



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cuban Lance (Voltron), Japanese Shiro (Voltron), Orphan Keith (Voltron), but also kinda happy, kinda sad, shorter than i am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 06:57:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11352219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_lucem/pseuds/Ad_lucem
Summary: A look into what lies behind each Paladins' breakfast table. // Set before they went to the Garrision //





	Breakfast Table

_Shiro_

I never grew up with an American breakfast table. In Japan the table never held pancakes, sausages, bacon, or cereal but I liked it that way. Most of the time my Mama had a big bowl of miso soup, steamed rice, and either fish or beef laid out for myself and my brother to eat of mornings. We ate quickly in between bits of conversation and packed up whatever was left over for lunch on a school day or brought it out with us to work. When we moved to America for Dad’s work our breakfast table didn’t see much of a change until I started training over at the Garrison.

_Hunk_

I never grew up with a bland breakfast table. Even though it was just my Mom and I most of the time it was always full of food we made together, most mornings my Dad walked into the kitchen and stole a few bites of whatever we were making before heading out to the early shift at the restaurant. She taught me each morning how to cook something new or how to use an ingredient to get the best flavors out of it. Whatever we made that morning always turned out great and was definitely worth waking up early for. Our breakfast table always seemed alive when we were done even if it was just the two of us enjoying it.

_Lance_

I never grew up with two bottles of syrup on the breakfast table. But we never even needed two bottles, my family made due with what we had readily available and not much more. Rene’s prom dress was hand sewn and her boutonniere for her boyfriend was made from the daisies out back and the lace from one of her old shirts. When it was my turn for prom I wore one of Papa’s old suits and topped it off with a pair of shiny leather shoes gifted to me from my Uncle. I had danced the night away not caring about the slightly too broad shoulders or the small tear by the last button. In a house where recycling everything was necessary having only one bottle of syrup on the breakfast table was perfectly fine, we made it work and that's what mattered most.

_Pidge_

I never grew up with a large breakfast table. Only four seats occupied the space around the circular table but at every meal they were filled. My Father and Matt always sat across from each other and spoke about their latest research topics at the Garrison. Matt would lean over and ruffle my hair saying how I would make the best pilot there ever was even though we all knew I really wouldn’t. I had always wanted to be the team inventor just like Matt. Dad and Matt went off to Kerberos a few months after I joined the program and promised to bring back a sample for me to experiment on. After what felt like years of silence from them we received a letter in the mail saying they’d never be coming home, the breakfast table had seemed larger than ever the next morning.

_Keith_

I never grew up with a permanent breakfast table. With each new home I found myself in it changed, in one home there would be a large spread of food and a welcoming smile while in others I’d be lucky to have a bowl laid out to put cereal in. It never mattered to me anyways, I had no intentions of playing the perfect poster child for these families or staying with them for an extended period of time. As expected none of them ever lasted longer than a few months before I was told I would be moving into a new home a few hundred miles away. Sometimes I wondered if they even realized that I never showed up at the breakfast table afterwards.


End file.
